


Once More With Feeling

by Crimson1



Series: With Feeling [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-12
Updated: 2013-10-16
Packaged: 2017-12-14 18:43:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 6
Words: 16,892
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/840132
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crimson1/pseuds/Crimson1
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the events of "This Time With Feeling" dealing with a 16-year-old Derek, Stiles and an adult Derek have a new relationship to work out, and Derek plans to do better - with everyone. Their bliss is interrupted, however, by a returned Peter and a new threat.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Surprise Training

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so my original plans to get to this BEFORE the show returned didn't pan out, but I want to get things rolling now, as I have the whole next installment thought out from beginning to end. So here is the first part of the next half of this story: Once More With Feeling. Expect pack dynamics and feels completely independent of the current season, as I'm keeping Jackson, and you'll soon be seeing Peter. Oh I love what I'm doing with Peter. Among many other larger plans. Enjoy!
> 
> Also, if any of you might be interested in reading an original story of mine, though based off of my Supernatural fanfic Incubus, The Incubus Saga: Book 1 will be out July 1st, on Amazon and at BigWorldNetwork.com. It will be available in paperback, ebook, and audiobook. And you better believe there's slash.

Stiles generally didn't sleep well. Or sleep—at all. Unless he was forcibly knocked unconscious, which was cheating.

The morning after Derek Hale turned from a 16-year-old to his usual adult self, however, after a night of agony and confessions and some really awesome sexiness, Stiles awoke feeling like he had had the best sleep of his life. For once the future didn't seem so bleak, even in Beacon Hills, which may as well have been an actual Hellmouth.

He and Derek were…well, for lack of a better term, dating. Stiles' worst fears of his new friend, Young Derek, had not, in the end, been realized when Sourwolf Derek returned. In fact, Derek wasn't quite so sour anymore. Not completely. He was gentle, and needy, and just wanted to be loved—and Stiles didn't care how Lifetime movie of the week that sounded, because he wanted Derek to be loved too.

Stiles giggled—he was allowed to giggle—as he spread out on his otherwise empty bed, reveling in the remaining scent of Derek all over his sheets. Stiles remembered he had gone down for dinner with his dad at some point, just to make sure the sheriff didn't worry about his son’s possible concussion. Which Stiles thankfully didn't have, since he felt fine after a good night's sleep, though he knew he still had to take it easy.

After dinner, he had excused himself to go to bed early, and found Derek kicked back on the bed reading Marvel Zombies—despite having admitted he owned copies himself. And Derek had smiled at him—smiled. They'd spent a few hours hidden up in Stiles room together after that, talking. Just talking. Sometimes about serious things, but usually about ridiculous comic or video game related things, that eventually led to Stiles revealing he tried writing a comic once, but didn't have the art skills for it. Derek said he wanted to read it, and Stiles gave in—maybe halfway—and said Derek would have to earn that privilege.

Eventually the alpha snuck out, since Stiles had school the next morning, but even though Stiles might have liked another round of sexy fun, he didn't really mind. It was weird, and he knew it wouldn't last very long, but for now everything felt right, and good, and like it would all be okay.

He tried not to think those thoughts too loudly at risk of jinxing the whole thing.

He practically skipped his way into school later that morning, finding the rest of the pack—sans Derek of course—gathered at their lockers. All of them—well, all of the wolves—grinned at him knowingly. They could probably smell Derek on him, and had to know that things had worked out after the semi-mess things had turned into in the woods.

Stiles merely held his head high and continued on to where Scott was at his locker by himself. He leaned against the lockers nearby while Scott dug around for whichever books he needed that morning—which Scott probably wasn't even sure about—and waited for his best friend to look at him. He knew he was grinning like an idiot.

Scott smirked crookedly and shook his head. "Dude, I get it. I do have an idea how it feels to be that into someone, you know. And…have sex for the first time," he said in a slightly exaggerated, conspiratorial whisper.

"Technically, it was the second time," Stiles beamed.

Scott chuckled. "I'm aware. Glad you and Derek worked things out. Really. Although…how are you going to handle your dad?"

Stiles turned to lean back against the lockers and tilted his head back. "Avoidance," he nodded to himself, "complete and utter avoidance for as long as I can manage. I can tell him when I'm eighteen."

"Like…a year and a half from now?"

"It's doable. Derek's been in my room how many times since we met him?"

"Good point." Scott slammed his locker shut, hoisting his bag over his shoulder. "It's a little weird, you and Derek, but…kinda not weird too. I don't know, it's like it just…smells right. Ew," he immediately followed up.

Stiles nodded. "Ew."

"But, you know, even though this all started because Peter was being—"

"A sociopath."

Scott continued on without missing step. "We're all one pack now, you know. And it's really…nice. We needed a Pack Mom," he added with that crooked grin on his crooked jaw again.

Normally, Stiles would have smacked him on principle—even if it wouldn't faze his werewolf buddy in the slightest—but he could admit that although he never used to imagine things turning out like this, he was glad they had. Werewolf parts and all.

He had hated Erica and Isaac when they first turned and were acting like homicidal assholes, after all, but then they had settled in, back to their real selves mingled sanely with their new selves, and things changed. Boyd had never really changed, from what Stiles knew of him, but he'd always liked Boyd. And Jackson…wow, Stiles had a tough time with this one, but…Jackson wasn't so bad. He'd only ever had Danny as a friend who really knew and accepted all he was, and even Danny hadn't known everything until recently.

They were a pack all together, a family. Stiles loved his dad more than anything, but having a whole extended family again was…nice, just as Scott had said. Really nice. Awesome, even.

"Oh, hey," Scott said as they began their trek to class. "I got a message from Deaton this morning asking me to put in some hours whenever I can manage. I guess he was just on vacation."

"Yeah," Stiles nodded, not entirely surprised, "I saw Counselor Morrell on my way in, so no missing people, turns out. Guess we were blaming the witch for nothing." Stiles could sure think of some things to thank her for, though.

Stiles was admittedly anxious to get through the school day. There were times when he honestly enjoyed school—learning, forming opinions, driving teachers crazy—but so much had happened recently that he really just wanted a vacation. A chance to take things in, relax, and…maybe spend some quality time with his boyfriend.

Boyfriend. Stiles was totally going to call Derek that in public the next time he saw him—and by public, he meant in front of the rest of the pack.

Finally, after what seemed like an agonizing day, Stiles was in his last class, watching the clock tick down to lacrosse practice. He had a lot of energy to burn, and there weren't any imminent threats to the town, so he was looking forward to some time on the field. Then, about five minutes to the bell, his phone buzzed in his pocket.

He noticed that Scott's, Isaac's, and Danny's—who all happened to be in that class with him—also reached to check vibrating phones.

Stiles glanced at the text message to see that it was from Derek: Training. Den. After lacrosse. 

It was such a normal Derek kind of message, short and to the point, and yet Stiles was instantly excited. He was being included in a text about training. He was being included, which meant Derek wanted him there. Of course, this scared him a little too, because he kind of wanted to know why Derek wanted him there, except maybe to be a cheerleader again, like he had been during Young Derek's training session. But then why also invite Danny?

Whatever the answer might be, Stiles wanted to see how Adult Derek was going to try being…better. Not that he wanted Derek to change, but he'd already started to get to know this opened up Derek, mixed with traces of his younger self, and he liked everything about it. Training was merely the next step.

Okay, so maybe Stiles was a little disappointed when lacrosse practice started and, although Allison and Lydia—and amazingly Erica—were in the stands together, Derek was nowhere to be seen. But after only about ten minutes, the next time Stiles glanced over, he caught a glimpse of Derek hidden beside the bleachers, like he wasn't quite sure he should be there. The sight of him, all unsure and shadowed, dressed normally in all black and his leather jacket, made Stiles weak in the knees—and made him miss a shot.

"Billinski!" Coach Finstock called. "Can we have one practice where you aren't preoccupied with the stands?!"

"Sorry, Coach!" Stiles called back. "It's a very pleasant distraction, is all," he added under his breath, glancing at Derek again if only to catch the quick grin that flashed at his words. Wolf hearing had its perks.

A while later, taking a water break, Danny sidled up next to Stiles, wearing a knowing smile. "Told you so," he said, elbowing Stiles playfully. "Miguel is definitely into you."

Stiles looked again to where Derek had been covertly watching practice, but he wasn't there anymore. He was up in the stands with the girls, plain as day, not even trying to hide. He didn't even look awkward chatting with Allison and Lydia. "Wow…" he said.

"Uh, hey," Danny interjected again, sounding serious now. "What's this 'Den' he's talking about anyway? And how did he get my number?"

Oh yeah, Danny hadn't ever actually been initiated as an official member of the pack.

"You'll find out," Jackson said with his usual superior tone, shouldering his way in for more water, and not caring that he knocked Stiles sideways in the process. His smile held this strange brotherly affection these days that he probably figured entitled him to still mercilessly pick on Stiles.

"It's our Batcave," Stiles explained. "Not quite as nice, but it'll get there. Guess Derek wants a pack meeting, or something, before training with the wolves."

"Cool," Danny said, and was off, back onto the field.

He really was far too awesome for his own good.

Stiles scored two goals before practice was over, and while he did still occasionally second guess himself and mess up, for the most part he was pretty damn coordinated. Coach Finstock even patted him on the shoulder with one of his patented mixed metaphors that made no sense, but that Stiles was certain was meant to mean, "Good game."

After practice, Stiles and the others were a whirlwind in the showers and locker room, eager to find out what Derek actually had planned, since no one seemed to have any inside info. And no, Stiles didn't either, despite everyone assuming he would.

The boys headed toward the parking lot together—Stiles, Scott, Jackson, Isaac, Boyd, and Danny—to find the girls and Derek waiting for them. Lydia and Allison got into Lydia's car as they drew near, while Erica hurried over and latched onto Stiles' arm as an indication she planned to ride with him. Derek got into his Camaro.

Stiles was a little disappointed, but he figured they needed the extra cars to transport everyone. He stopped with the others at Derek's window and had to ask, "So…what's the plan? Hankering for another giant, coed sleepover?" He grinned, not that he would be opposed to the idea.

Derek glanced at the assembled group. Lydia and Allison were parked close enough to hear as he said, "You all know the truth. You're pack. You should know how to defend yourselves too. And that includes you," he said to Stiles.

A sudden weight settled in Stiles' stomach as it dawned on him that Derek might not actually want him at training as a cheerleader. "Wait. What? But I have a concussion."

"No you don't. You were just knocked around at practice for an hour and you're fine."

"But…"

"Oh, and bring your lacrosse pads."

"Derek…"

Derek smiled somewhere between his usual smirk and a sweet smile. As Scott got in with the girls, and Boyd and Isaac got into the Camaro, Stiles realized he'd be totting Erica, Jackson, and Danny, which was not a group he normally would have ever thought he'd be alone with.

He let that thought resonate in his head so he wouldn't think too hard on what Derek meant to do to him at this training session—and how many new bruises he'd have tomorrow—and tried to enjoy the way Derek touched his wrist briefly, affectionately before driving away.

Jackass.

________________________________________

TBC...


	2. Sparring Partners

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Derek begins his new training sessions with the pack and has plans for Stiles.

Deep breaths, Stiles told himself, deep breaths. He stood at one end of the large, open area of the den, facing off against Isaac. ‘Facing off’ meaning that Isaac was charging toward him at a full werewolf sprint, fangs and other beta aspects out and ready, while Stiles stood feeling like an idiot in his lacrosse pads, holding his lacrosse stick in front of him like a shield—maybe a spear? A staff? Stiles had to think quickly about just how he planned to use his stick as a weapon unless he wanted to end up on his ass—again. 

Of course Derek had asked him to go first, as a ‘good example’ to the other humans in the pack. And of course Derek had asked Jackson to be the first wolf opposed to him. Stiles could already feel the bruises growing over his tailbone thanks to the all-out tackles Jackson had assaulted him with. And yet Derek still hadn’t let him take a break!

“You know the way we move better than any of the other humans. It has to be you,” Derek had said quietly when Stiles first tried to protest, rubbing his backside. “Watch, look for an opening, use what you have on you to your advantage. You may not be as strong as a wolf, but you’re the most resilient, the most resourceful. You can do this.”

Jackson had since traded out for Isaac, and Stiles was poised as his new opponent came at him, trying to soak in what Derek had said, to think and gauge the situation with what he had. With what he knew. 

Isaac was taller than Jackson.

Isaac couldn’t leap quite as high because of his longer legs.

Isaac would come in low, not high as Jackson had. 

So when Isaac was just about on him, Stiles feinted right, leapt back to the left, and spun around swinging his lacrosse stick to strike Isaac along the back, who had run straight through the open space Stiles had left when he moved. Isaac was disoriented just long enough for Stiles to swipe with his stick at those long legs and drop the blonde right on his rear.

A chorus of cheers rose up from the assembled, watching pack. Even Isaac grinned up at Stiles from his position on the floor.

“Nice,” Isaac said as Stiles held out a hand to heft the wolf up, not that he really needed assistance.

“Now imagine if that wasn’t your lacrosse stick,” Derek came up to them, “but an actual metal staff, or a blade. You could do some serious damage just by knowing your opponent. And I don’t mean knowing Isaac,” Derek pressed on as Stiles was about to comment. “I mean knowing your opponent. You weren’t thinking about how Isaac fights, were you? You sized him up from what you know on the surface, from what you observed in the moment.”

Stiles considered that. Sweat was dripping down his back beneath his pads. He blinked at Derek from inside his helmet, still a little amazed that he saw scrutiny and seriousness in those hazel eyes, sure, but also support and pride. “Yeah. I was thinking about his size, the way he was moving, and how I assumed, from that, how he’d attack.”

Derek smiled. “Think you can do the same now with Jackson?” He patted Isaac on the back at the same time as he gestured Jackson to come back over.

Stiles groaned. He was exhausted, but he figured that was the point. If he wanted a break, he needed to manage the same or something equally awesome against Jackson.

Fine, Stiles thought. I can take Mr. Perfect. Now let’s think about this…

As Jackson readied himself, teeth flashing white in a wide smile, and blue wolf eyes flaring to life as he transformed again on the other side of the den, Stiles tried to think like he just had with Isaac. 

Jackson likes to show off. Even if Stiles didn’t know him, that would be obvious enough.

Jackson will come in high. Not only because he’s shorter but because he’s fast—maybe faster than any of the others. He knows he can dodge in and surprise Stiles at the last minute by leaping right when Stiles thinks he’s going to tackle. The tackle then comes from above and is significantly harder to block.

Jackson took off toward Stiles, not waiting for any sign of ‘go’ because, as Derek had said, in a real fight there aren’t any rules. Stiles hunkered down. What if Jackson faked him out? Came in like before, but then did something else instead? Rather than second guess himself, Stiles studied the way Jackson was moving as he came closer, waiting for some small shift in his feet that would indicate direction. 

Then he saw it—just a small, almost imperceptible pivot. Jackson was leaping for the attack! So Stiles dropped, straight down to his knees, giving him more room to swing the lacrosse stick than he’d had in this situation before, and swung up. The pocket hit Jackson right in the crotch, and Stiles’ swing propelled him end over end into the pads on the floor beyond.

Jackson tumbled with a growl. Stiles jumped to his feet and fist-pumped his stick into the air. 

“Yes! Eat that, J. Crew!”

The cheers and laughter from the pack was even louder than before, and although Jackson turned his nose up with a scowl, he nodded at Stiles as he shifted human again and climbed to his feet. “Yeah, yeah. Not bad, Wal-Mart.”

“Dude,” Stiles walked over to Jackson and patted his chest before he could escape to the sidelines, “I have some class. It’s Target, not Wal-Mart.” He waggled an eyebrow and grinned wide. Even Jackson had to laugh.

Stiles tore his helmet off as he followed after Jackson to where the others were waiting, Derek nodding approval and at least allowing the break this time, since he didn’t immediately motion Stiles back out again. 

“Good,” Derek said, arms crossed and face struggling to remain impassive despite the affection Stiles could easily see reflected there, “but you can be better. Next time we’ll see how you handle Boyd. Danny!” he called with a quick turn of his head, meeting gazes with the fidgeting brunette. “Let’s see what you can do. Erica, you start.”

Danny may as well have been shaking, but he didn’t let his anxiety show on his face as he jogged out into the open area for sparring. He was decked out in his lacrosse pads as well. He probably figured Derek was going easy on him, starting with Erica, but Stiles knew better; she played dirty.

Lydia was wearing Scott’s pads, impatiently waiting her turn and eyeing Jackson like she couldn’t wait to lay him out on the floor—in some way or another—but Allison had refused. She said she’d faced the wolves as just herself plenty already, and intended to keep her skills up the same way. Stiles was looking forward to her turn.

“We’re ordering pizza or something later, right? I’m already starved,” Stiles said as he collapsed into a chair—a folding one, not one of the nice plush chairs since he was so sweaty. “I told Dad I was eating with Scott, and I’d actually like part of that statement to be true at some point.”

Scott, on his feet to watch the next bout, merely chuckled.

Derek came over to stand beside Stiles’ chair, on the end a few feet from the where the others were gathered. “It’s a start—all this. My pack before was strong. This one can be too. This doesn’t just teach you how to fight, it brings us together.”

“Pack bonding?” Stiles smiled up at him.

Derek turned a raised eyebrow on him. “And the chance to understand how each other fights and moves. We need to know how to work together, how to read each other, as much as we need to fight on our own. Your mother is welcome to join us for these sessions!” he called over to Scott, about the time Erica collided with Danny’s neck—thighs first.

Scott’s head whipped around toward Derek. “Really? I don’t know what she’d say to that, but…I think I’d feel safer if she learned a few things. Maybe she’ll like seeing that we’re trying to stay prepared, you know. I’ll ask.” He flashed that puppy smile, the one that made Stiles want to pat Scott on the head, and made him wonder if Scott’s tail would be wagging if he had one.

As the evening progressed, Stiles was thankful that Derek didn’t expect anyone to take a second turn, so he was able to discard his pads and watch in comfort. Derek was especially attentive with the newer members of the pack, like Danny and Lydia. Each of them—each of all of them—had certain strengths, and somehow Derek seemed to know just the right things to say to bring those strengths out in them. 

Danny was a goalie; he naturally felt the need to hold his ground. But he was also a very fast dodger, built from years of diving after close-calls. Derek soon had him flipping, dodging, and dipping his way around Erica—and eventually Scott—like a dancer.

Lydia had the advantage of not being afraid of anything. Derek told her to use that, to stand her ground until the very last second and then make a bold move, a strong strike, or kick, or unexpected blow. Her style of fighting definitely matched her overall personality, and she did eventually get her chance to bring Jackson down to the ground. 

He’d gotten a hold of her, arms tight around her arms and chest from behind, and instead of struggling like most people would have done, she simply went limp. Jackson fell with her, unprepared for the sudden dead weight in his arms, and she was able to get away and plant a knee in his groin. His balls were really taking a beating today.

Stiles struggled not to snicker when that thought crossed his mind.

Then he tried not to stare too hard at Derek when several decidedly more personal and naughty thoughts replaced any thoughts of Jackson, though concentrated around the same body part.

Sexual innuendo aside, Derek was really doing it, being an awesome leader with a firm but gentle hand, and getting everyone to be better and have fun at the same time. Stiles felt his own swell of pride at how Derek was stepping up to become the Alpha he was meant to be all along.

As Stiles was staring at Derek—definitely too hard, despite his best efforts—the Alpha soon caught his gaze and sauntered over. Allison was having far too much fun testing out her new rubber practice arrows on Boyd and Jackson, and the others were all exhausted and watching intently from the sidelines while Danny called in their pizza order.

No one was paying enough attention to Derek or Stiles when Derek stepped up behind his chair, leaned in, and whispered, “It’s all because of you, you know? Because you make me feel stronger. You make me stronger, and we’ll be a stronger pack because of it too.”

Stiles shivered at the praise, warmth spreading in his chest in a way that even wiping the floor with Jackson hadn’t accomplished. He glanced up at Derek, and was surprised yet again when the Alpha leaned the rest of the way down to kiss him. Right there. Where everyone could see! Okay, so maybe none of them even noticed, but Derek hadn’t hesitated or cared that they saw. He kissed Stiles, soft but soundly, then pulled back with a smile.

Once Stiles found his voice again, he smirked. “You’re a bit of a slave-driver and a perfectionist…but a pretty good leader. And a really awesome boyfriend,” he winked.

Derek huffed, but retained his smile and didn’t try to correct the term.

Later, once they had finally called it quits and were gathered around in a large circle on the sparring floor eating pizza and downing soda—after they’d all had plenty of water; Derek’s orders—Derek asked if Stiles wanted to tell his dad about the wolves, so he could be involved too, like Scott’s mom.

“We won’t be able to keep things a secret from him forever,” Derek said, which Stiles knew implied more than just the secret of werewolves, but what Stiles was doing in his spare time with one of them.

“I know, and I appreciate the offer, but…not yet,” Stiles said. “I need to think about how to approach the whole thing, ease into it, ya know?”

“Your dad will react way better than Mom did,” Scott said knowingly. “He’s the most rational person I know. As long as you can explain it well, he’ll be cool about it.”

“Instead of the alternative of him freaking and starting up some kind of wolf hunt?” Jackson offered with a smug expression.

Stiles scowled. “You’re the reason he’s hesitant to trust me these days, you know.”

“Hey, I squared all that away and admitted you didn’t kidnap me. Even though technically you did.”

“You were a lizard monster!”

“You could have tried telling me instead of just locking me away.”

“Coz the truth works so well on you.”

“You—”

“Enough,” Derek interjected, tone firm and eyes flashing with just enough authority that Jackson listened without question. Even Stiles could admit he’d have a hard time arguing against Derek in Alpha mode. Derek turned understanding eyes on Stiles. “Take your time. When you’re ready, we can talk to him. If you’re pack, he is too. Whether he’s one knowingly is up to you, but the invitation stands. And not only because he’s the Sheriff and could cause more problems for us. The same invitation is open to all of you,” he said to the room.

The other gathered wolves looked understandably skeptical, other than Allison, though it was more a truce with the Argents than Chris being a full member of the pack. Isaac didn’t have any family left to tell. Boyd and Erica didn’t have any desire to inform their neglectful parents. Lydia huffed like it was the stupidest thing she’d ever heard. Danny looked maybe a little contemplative about it. But Jackson merely looked sad.

It was only for a moment, but Stiles saw it, because he understood it, that longing ache for parents that weren’t there. Jackson didn’t even remember his real parents, but he still felt their loss. Stiles had lost his mother only a few years ago, after the Hale House fire, but even though he had been young, he remembered her like a brand in his brain and missed her every day.

He glanced over at Derek and knew that the Alpha had understood the silence and expressions from his pack just as adeptly.

“Pack means family,” Derek said. “If there’s ever anyone who you consider close enough to be part of this family…just let me know. Because we’re in this together, and no single one of us is more important than the pack.”

Stiles snorted—really, he couldn’t help himself. “The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few?” he smirked. “Though I never really saw the appeal of Wrath of Khan. Totally overrated.”

Derek snapped his gaze to Stiles looking scandalized, and Stiles even noticed Derek’s right hand twitch into the Vulcan greeting for a moment before he hid it by clenching his fist. “Because The Final Frontier deserves more notable mention?” he couldn’t help shooting back, dripping sarcasm.

Stiles knew he could get Derek on that one. He grinned wider when he saw how the others were mostly looking on in confusion, though Isaac was snickering. Stiles mentally reminded himself that there were plenty of reasons why Isaac was quickly becoming his favorite, but getting an original series Star Trek reference was a total plus. 

“Dude, you are such a geek,” Stiles called out affectionately, and if only for the way Derek actually flushed with color at the mention, the others all busted out laughing.

*****

Things continued in much the same way throughout the week, the general idea being that everyone would get together after lacrosse practice unless they absolutely couldn’t. Stiles told his dad that he and Scott were part of a study group to make sure Scott actually made it to the next grade, and that wasn’t a total lie. Whenever it wasn’t someone’s turn on the sparring floor, the rest of them spent their time studying or getting schoolwork done. They were still able to watch the pairs or groups training and keep up with school at the same time. It was…synergistic, Stiles decided. 

Fun as the group dynamics and pack bonding were, however, Stiles was quickly growing anxious that there hadn’t been any chance for some alone time with Derek. Derek was more hesitant to risk getting caught by the Sheriff now that he’d had more time to really think things through, so as Stiles wasn’t getting any late night visits to his bedroom, he had been spending maybe a little too much time with his right hand in the dead of night, and his pillow and sheets that still smelled like Derek—younger and older.

By the end of the week, Stiles was a little worried that Derek hadn’t tried anything other than chaste kisses during their practice sessions. He feared Derek might be backtracking and thinking it was best to wait until Stiles was older, which Stiles had a million arguments against but he hadn’t actually brought the subject up with Derek yet. 

Derek had called practice early Thursday night, and said there wouldn’t be any practice Friday as he had ‘something else to do’. Stiles had been whisked off by the others to grab dinner and head home before he could pry into just what Derek meant by that.

Now, Friday lacrosse practice was coming to an end, and Stiles had no plans for afterward. Everyone else seemed to have plans, none of which included him, and now that things had settled into a routine with their sparring practices, Scott was finally going to ask his mom if she wanted to join their sessions next week. Stiles’ dad had normal day shifts both Saturday and Sunday, so Stiles was looking forward to some Dad time during the nights, but otherwise he had a whole weekend ahead of him with nothing to do but study.

Derek hadn’t even stayed all the way to the end of lacrosse, though Stiles had been pleased to see him in the stands. He moved a little slower in the locker room because of that, not eager to head home alone, and wondered if he should just call Derek and ask what he was doing…when the lights went out.

Stiles looked around. He was the last one there. Shit. Why did these things always have to happen in the locker room? When he was alone? And stupid Derek wasn’t even—

Then Stiles felt it—‘it’ being the only thing he could pinpoint at first, not any who, what, why, or where. The hairs on the back of his neck stood at attention, goosebumps formed on his arms, and he shuddered. He steeled himself, trying to keep calm, keep centered, and listen for wherever his attacker might be. He couldn’t hear anything other than his own shaky breaths, but he could feel…something. Something familiar. Something closely connected to him and full of warmth.

Stiles straightened. He had been about to reach in and grab his lacrosse stick for a weapon, and even though now he knew he wouldn’t need it, he still took it in hand. He was shirtless yet, but freshly showered, his jeans hanging low on his hips. Slowly, he closed his locker, set his T-shirt on the bench beside him, and whipped around just as Derek pressed him back with a clang against the metal doors.

“Nice try, wolf boy,” Stiles smirked. He tapped his lacrosse stick against Derek’s inner thigh where it was wedged between the Alpha’s legs. “What was that you said earlier in the week? Imagine if this was a blade?”

Derek’s white teeth flashed in the darkness—smiling. “You sensed me. Now that we’re officially mated, I guess there’s no more sneaking up on you.” He spoke softly, quietly despite there being no one else around, which made the darkness and their closeness seem even more suddenly intimate.

Stiles let his lacrosse stick clatter to the floor and brought his hands up to grip Derek’s shirt past his open leather jacket. “Bonus,” he said, and tugged Derek in for a kiss.

Being barely an inch apart in height made an embrace so easy and perfectly fit, like they were made to collide and hold on tight. Which, Stiles had to remind himself, they sort of were.

He lapped at Derek’s tongue, pressed his lips to Derek’s tightly, and delved in deep. Derek’s stubble chaffed a little, especially against Stiles’ smooth will-never-ever-be-able-to-grow-a-beard skin, but it was worth every scratch. 

Derek slid his arms around Stiles’ naked back and held him close as if he feared Stiles might slip away and vanish. Stiles clung tighter to Derek’s shirt and pressed his hips forward to indicate he had no plans on going anywhere.

“So…” Stiles gasped from their lip lock, breath short and lips shiny and wet, “…what did you have to do tonight?” He blinked at Derek’s glittering hazel eyes that were barely an inch from his own.

When they flashed red with promise, Stiles’ entire vision was crimson for a moment. “Well,” Derek said in a husky growl, “I was planning on _you_.”

TBC...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys rock! So glad you're enjoying the return of this story so far. More soon! Sexy time, and then the first...hiccup to their happily ever after.


	3. Next Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles and Derek finally get to experience...next time, with Derek on top. Though the night might not end as they anticipate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry for how late this is, but with the launch of Incubus, my novel, normal work things, BigWorldNetwork.com things, preparing for Chicago Comic Con in August, and various trips including family ones...this summer has been insane. I honestly have had no time. But here you are in apology...some nice dirty sex. Plus a surprise at the end, hehe.
> 
> Enjoy! And don't forget to check out Incubus on BigWorldnetwork.com if you enjoy my slash writing!

Stiles trembled down the full length of his body, which was currently held tightly against an apparently horny Derek Hale, Stiles' fists clenched in the alpha's shirt, and hips pressed firmly forward. He opened his mouth to say something snarky in response to Derek having to do him tonight, but was cut off as Derek kissed him again.

Stiles hummed. Derek's tongue was pleasantly invading the recesses of his mouth, his large hands sliding up and down Stiles' still somewhat damp skin from having taken a shower after practice. His shirt remained discarded on the nearby bench, his lacrosse stick between their legs on the ground. Stiles released a shuddery breath as Derek's mouth moved over his jaw and down his neck. There was this spot below Stiles' ear that made every part of him turn to jelly when Derek so much as sniffed it, and damn him and his awesome werewolf ways, because Derek bit down with a gentle but still firm claim right there.

Blinking through the darkness, knowing they were alone and that there was no reason for anyone else to return, Stiles figured he might as well take advantage of the moment. He released his grip from Derek's T-shirt, sliding his hands down and then up underneath the fabric to feather at Derek's belly.

Derek hissed. "Stiles…"

"Poor, ticklish puppy," Stiles spoke into Derek's hair, pressing their heads together and letting his hands tickle further along where Derek's jeans started. He wanted to slide his hands right down past the denim.

"Don't call me that," Derek warned, though there wasn't much malice in it.

"I can always go back to Youngblood."

A low rumble vibrated in Derek's throat, and a moment later, Stiles felt the alpha bite with just a little more possession at the juncture of his throat and collarbone. It wasn't enough to break skin or risk passing on the actual Bite, but it made Stiles tremble again and sink deeper against Derek. His knees shook at the combined sensations of Derek latched onto his neck, arms encasing him, while he slipped a hand down the front of Derek's jeans like he'd been wanting to and found Derek straining and burning hot.

Another rumble sounded from Derek's throat, making Stiles' chest tingle. "I told the others to take the night off," Derek said as he released his teeth but kept his face and warm breath by Stiles' neck. "The den is empty…and I have a surprise for you. A few surprises actually."

This was going to be a far better Friday night than Stiles had anticipated. "Shouldn't we start heading there, then?" he said eagerly.

"In a minute."

Stiles bit back a yelp as Derek's arms suddenly moved underneath him, hoisting him up so that his legs found natural holds around Derek's waist. The shift in positions pulled Stiles' hand from out of the front of Derek's jeans, which was a shame, but being lifted and practically slammed back into the lockers was a recurring fantasy Stiles was not about to waste.

Their lips reconnected and Stiles gripped either side of Derek's stubbled face. The scratchiness still took some getting used to, but he didn't mind. Although he did wonder how much younger Derek might look if he shaved.

Stiles bucked his hips forward, though their positions had him too high up on Derek's waist to connect the way he wanted. Still, pressing into firm muscle made him aware of just how ready he was to christen the locker room. Though, now that he thought about it, someone had probably already had sex in here before. Probably Jackson.

Damn, did Stiles' internal monologue really need to learn to focus.

Derek let the press of his body hold Stiles against the lockers while he moved his hands slowly up Stiles' sides and simultaneously brushed over his nipples. That helped with Stiles' focus immensely. But as he'd been really looking forward to this and could already feel himself embarrassingly close to finishing early, he managed to grip Derek's neck and pull their heads apart.

"Dude…sixteen-year-old here. I need…a breather." And he was gasping for breath enough to prove it.

Derek chuckled darkly—huskily. That was something Stiles knew he would only ever get from the adult Derek before him, and he loved every bit of that sound. "Okay," Derek said, moving his hands back to Stiles' hips and beginning to gradually lower him to the ground. "Wouldn't want to rush things with what I've got waiting. Hurry up." He released Stiles with a slight stumble back to the ground, then smacked the side of his ass.

Stiles gaped. Sometimes he wasn't sure if he could get used to this weird Derek mesh—where some part of him was healed, and funny, and playful—but he was really looking forward to discovering every last nuance of the new alpha.

He still rolled his eyes with a huffed, "Creeper," before scooping up his T-shirt, though.

Derek remained leaning back against the opposing lockers while Stiles finished dressing and gathering his things. Stiles was fully aware the entire time of the strain to Derek's jeans—and his own—which didn't seem to be dissipating.

Scott's mom in a cheerleading outfit! he thought quickly.

That didn't help nearly as much as Stiles had assumed it would. Damn Melissa for being so hot.

Dad in a cheerleading outfit! he tried again.

Stiles sighed in relief. Much better.

"Okay!" he turned back to Derek with enthusiasm, lacrosse bag and backpack slung over his shoulder. Of course even looking at Derek stirred his desires right back up again, so he swallowed thickly and moved past the alpha toward the exit. He wanted nothing more than to continue where they had left off, but somewhere without any threat of someone walking in on them. "Let's roll out!" he added dramatically, and reveled in the way Derek laughed—not only because Stiles was being ridiculous, but because Derek knew exactly what he was referencing.

XXXXX

Stiles practically skipped from the Camaro to the entrance down into the den. He slowed once he reached the steps, not wanting his more often than not bad luck to give him a sprained ankle for his enthusiasm. Derek managed to get to the bottom of the steps first and made him close his eyes.

"There's a very silly, sentimental part of you, Mr. Hale. I kinda like it," Stiles said as he groped blindly forward for Derek to lead him. He felt Derek's large hand close over his wrist and gently begin tugging him along.

"Shut up," Derek said matter-of-factly—not coldly like he used to. "I've been meaning to get to this for some time. You just gave me the motivation I needed."

Now Stiles was intensely curious, and he nearly tripped in his excitement even with Derek guiding him. He wasn't about to peek, though. He loved surprises.

Finally, Derek brought him to a stop. "Okay. Take a look."

Stiles opened his eyes…and at first wondered what gypsy magic Derek had performed to teleport him somewhere else, because he could hardly believe he was looking at the den. It was clean, and organized, and all around presentable. It was…decorated.

The large open area with mats and obstacles for sparring was still intact and mostly the same, but Stiles could tell that the floors, walls, everything had been carefully wiped down; the mats repositioned, and any makeshift weapons or other items they used during sparing had been carefully put away on brand new shelves against the wall.

The upper area beside the train car, which often acted as their gathering space, actually looked hospitable, with the sofa and chairs organized around an actual coffee table, with end tables, and even a little office space with desk and computer.

The train car itself was cleaned and sparkling, with curtains blocking any view inside. Stiles couldn't wait to see what Derek had done to the interior.

"I take it the second portion of my surprise is in there?" Stiles asked, knowing his smile had to be splitting his face, he was so amazed with what Derek had done to the place.

Derek merely smirked in reply. "I know this isn't a permanent residence by any stretch," he said, walking forward into the 'living room' area. "But we can make this work for now. There have been times, especially now that Chris is helping…that I've wanted to rebuild the house." He turned back to look at Stiles squarely, his expression somber but not as overcome with grief as it once might have been. "My house."

Stiles felt a wave of grief on Derek's behalf, but he understood. Of course he did. He remembered how important it was to rebuild so many metaphysical things after his mom died; the chance to actually rebuild Derek's old family home had to be the best kind of therapy Stiles could imagine. He just never thought Derek would actually go there.

He had always figured it would be too much, too hard, but now here Derek was, willing to face the past head on and rebuild—literally.

"I'll help," Stiles said firmly. "Everyone will. Of course I am completely inept with any and all power tools, and can't help haul heavy loads more than, like, 50 pounds without collapsing, but I can…direct. And bring snacks."

Derek laughed and shook his head. He crossed the space between them and gripped Stiles' wrist a little more firmly than before. "Come on."

Sprites of anticipation danced in Stiles' belly as Derek led him to the train car. And once he stepped over the threshold, the inside easily beat out everything else Derek had done to the place, because it wasn't just clean and organized, it was gutted, all of the seats and poles and other 'train car' elements gone, leaving an open space with enough room for a few rugs, a dresser, a place almost like a closet where Derek could hang some clothes, and…a bed.

It was only a twin—nothing else would fit in the narrow space—but it was there, with new sheets, a comforter, everything. There wasn't anything ridiculous like lit candles or dreamy music playing. There was just a lamp on in the corner that cast some soft light, and the covers of the bed were pulled back—inviting, simple.

So very Derek.

"Wow…this feels like some cheesy romance movie. Pinch me, please," Stiles said.

Derek released his wrist and smacked him in the arm. "It's just a bed. Which I'm expecting you to get on. Now." He grinned wickedly.

Stiles shivered. He was still a little hard from the locker rooms. The promise of what was to come had kept him from completely softening—somehow—and now he felt himself pulse anew at what was right in front of him. "Clothed or unclothed?" he asked, somewhat serious.

"I can help with that."

The air in Stiles' throat stuck halfway from escaping as a gasp when Derek stepped into his space and went straight for his jeans. Sure, they'd done this before. Twice—sort of. And the locker room had been hot. But this was somehow…different. More so because Stiles knew Derek planned to switch positions from last time, and Stiles had never done that before.

His jeans were loose enough, that once Derek undid them and tugged them past Stiles' hips, they fell the rest of the way to the floor. Stiles kicked out of his shoes while Derek lifted his T-shirt up over his head. Stiles was wearing the Batman underwear—pure coincidence, he'd swear to his grave—but he saw how the sight of them made Derek smile in amusement.

"Mmm…" Derek hummed, leaning into Stiles until his back hit the wall of the train car. He slid a hand down the front of Stiles' shorts and grabbed on tight to the bulge within, giving a few firm, promising strokes inside the fabric.

Stiles whimpered.

"You're too hard to resist," Derek said with a husky chuckle, before just as quickly releasing Stiles and using both hands to slide the underwear down his thin hips. Then Stiles was standing there, naked, in nothing but his socks. "Now…get on the bed and lie down—on your back."

When Derek pulled away slowly, eventually turning to head for the dresser, Stiles knew his knees were a little weak, but managed to scramble to the bed as ordered. He kicked the covers down to the foot of the bed once he got on top, and laid back with his head on the pillows, lifted up just enough to watch Derek.

The sexy alpha was gathering something from the bottom dresser drawer—a few somethings. It wasn't until Derek moved closer and set those somethings on the flat-topped chest at the foot of the bed that Stiles realized what the items were. A bottle of lube—expected and understandable. And…something else. It was fairly small, and purple, and shaped a little like a…shark?

Stiles opened his mouth to ask about it but was struck dumb as Derek began to slowly peel his own clothing away. He lifted his shirt off first, which really should have seemed like such a common occurrence to Stiles—seeing Derek Hale shirtless—that it shouldn't have fazed him, but the sight made him bite his lip anyway. Derek held eye contact with Stiles as he teasingly undid his jeans. He, as it turned out, wasn't wearing any underwear today, and the very idea that Derek had been commando during their locker room escapades, made Stiles' cock twitch.

"There's so many things running through my head…things I want to do to you—with you. But I figured we should start simple." Derek smiled and climbed onto the bed, fully nude. Stiles was still wearing his socks, but he felt too awkward to remove them now. He didn't think he could move, wondering what Derek had planned.

"So…umm…should I…?" Stiles stammered

"Just…relax," Derek said, as he crawled up between Stiles' legs, which Stiles parted only too willingly. "Relax," Derek said again, and lowered himself over Stiles to capture a kiss—firm, quick, a subtle swipe of his tongue—then he pulled away.

Derek's hands pressed to the flat of Stiles' chest, spreading outward in tandem over Stiles' shoulders and down his arms. They moved up again, following a reverse path, then drifted lower down Stiles' belly. As they began to move down Stiles's hips, they kept separated, along the outside of his thighs, rather than grazing the dripping and sensitive area at the center. Derek continued all the way down Stiles' legs.

When he reached Stiles' sock-clad feet, he chuckled. To Stiles' relief, Derek plucked them off and tossed them over his shoulders. Stiles stifled a squeak. He had already been naked in all the ways that mattered, but his final buffer was gone now. It made him feel even more tingly, and sensitive, and eager.

Derek repeated his gentle caressing of Stiles' body, moving up his legs but following the same course he had started with. Once he reached Stiles' stomach, he traveled down again. This time he moved in closer to the center, down the grooves of Stiles' hips and the inside of his thighs, while still expertly avoiding Stiles' now very much leaking cock that was practically jumping to be touched.

Derek didn't touch it. He moved his hands down Stiles' inner thighs and up again, then carefully, gently palmed the velvety skin of his balls to massage them.

Whimpers formed in Stiles' throat and spilled into the air. "Dude…" Stiles said, unable to keep his hips from arching in anticipation. He knew there was purpose to all of this, but he felt like he would go out of his mind if Derek didn't touch him—really touch him—soon.

And just at that moment, when Stiles knew incomprehensible gibberish was about to come pouring from his lips, Derek did. Sudden and all encompassing, Derek's large palm gripped the head of Stiles' cock, squeezing with just the right amount of pressure as he spread the excess of precum down the full length to the base.

"Ah!" Stiles nearly shouted, the initial tease and avoidance making actual contact feel that much hotter, and he yearned to be touched again and again as he thrust up into Derek's grip.

Of course then Derek pulled his hand away and began his trailing caresses again.

"Derek."

"You'll thank me," was all Derek said in reply, grinning mischievously all the while, which made Stiles want to smack him and kiss him at the same time.

"Okay, okay…who says I don't want to already? It's just…fuck." Stiles pressed his head back into the pillow as Derek moved from trailing up his stomach all the way down to give a few more playful tugs before sliding away again.

"That's the plan," Derek promised.

Stiles lifted his head once he'd caught his breath, wondering just what the plan was here, when he felt and saw Derek move away completely. He scooted down the bed to reach for the supplies on the chest, setting them higher up on the bed beside Stiles for easier access. Stiles stared at the shark…thing again, before being distracted by Derek pouring some of the lube into his hands.

One heated look from Derek was all Stiles needed before he lifted his legs up into a bent position and spread his legs wider. Derek smirked sideways as if to say 'you're so easy' which Stiles totally would deny if Derek actually said that—he was only easy for Derek.

The lube was cool as Derek poured a slow trail onto Stiles, so that it dribbled down his length, over the curve of his balls, and lower. Derek was kind enough to pump his hand through the slick liquid a few times and palm the velvety skin at the base again, before the first press of a finger.

Stiles buzzed, relaxed and wanting. He knew that was the point, but when Derek only let the tip of his finger slip in, Stiles moaned, "Come on."

"Patience."

"Don't have any."

"Like I don't know that already. Try anyway."

"Urrm…" Stiles tilted his head back again, closed his eyes, and took a few deep breaths. Derek didn't want to rush him, didn't want to risk hurting him, he got that, but he'd never been so loose and open and ready for something in his life.

The first press up to the knuckle made Stiles gasp, and his eyes sprang wide. He moaned into every little internal 'come hither' gesture Derek made, stroking that perfect little bundle of nerves inside him. Stiles had contemplated playing with it before, but had never quite gotten up the nerve to press a finger all the way in. Having Derek do it felt amazing.

And Derek took his time. Just one finger, consistently working and stroking, then he'd pull out for a few seconds to smooth his hand up Stiles' cock again, then return to stretching him. It was only when Stiles' brain was about to melt that Derek finally moved on to the next level.

The second finger felt far easier to take in than Stiles had initially anticipated, but he was so relaxed by now, so turned on and practically ready to come, that he cursed beneath his breath and bucked up to get across that he really was ready for more, god damn it!

Still, Derek kept with two fingers for another minute or more, steady and methodic, despite the heat in his eyes that proved he was having a hard time keeping himself in check.

Finally, Derek pulled away and snatched up the shark.

Okay, so it obviously wasn't shark-shaped, really, and Stiles could see now what it actually was. The 'fin' was a curve to more comfortably fit the grooves of a hand. Derek gripped it just so and poured a little lube along the end, which was definitely not shaped like a shark head.

It was small compared to, well, Derek, but still a bit wider than his two fingers had been, as well as slightly longer. Stiles nodded when Derek met his gaze.

The initial press was…different. Tighter, fuller, but not painful—not after how meticulously Derek had prepared him. Once the bulb of the toy's head was in, Stiles nodded for Derek to press in further. He called out loudly when Derek did—more like screamed.

"Stiles…?"

"Oh god, do that again."

Derek chuckled. He proceeded with the same careful, slow, damn near torturous pace, stretching Stiles all the more with each thrust of the handy purple toy that Stiles so wanted to ask about—like, where did Derek buy that thing? Had he already owned it? Because either way Stiles really wanted video footage of Derek purchasing it.

And he might have asked more about it if he wasn't currently melting into a puddle of Stilinski on the bed. He noticed that Derek had ceased his occasional strokes along his cock, which was making Stiles leak precum all down the length again, feeling as though a single light touch would cause him to come with an unmanly yelp.

So of course that's when the purple toy of awesomeness—which Stiles might still call 'the shark' just so they had some secret sex lingo to use when they were around friends—was set aside, and Derek poured a few swirls of lube onto himself. Onto his modest but really quite perfect cock, that was still significantly larger than the toy, but not so daunting that Stiles was above begging.

"Oh my god, coz seriously, like, you have no idea, just right now, right now, please." There may have been a full sentence in there somewhere.

Stiles realized then, as Derek descended on him, that the poor Alpha hadn't had so much as a single stroke for himself, though he looked pretty damn pleased with what he was about to get. And he was so careful, just as slow and gentle as he'd been the whole time, despite the strain on his face that told a story of cracking control. Stiles even saw the alpha's eyes flash red and heard a slight tearing in the sheets as Derek dug his hands into the covers besides Stiles' hips with what Stiles assumed were claws.

That Derek still held control, right up until the moment when he bucked that last bit forward and made Stiles moan uncensored toward the ceiling, just made it easier for Stiles to fully surrender.

Stiles lifted his legs and trapped Derek in place with his heels pressing into Derek's perfect ass. They held there for a moment, deeply connected, while Derek allowed Stiles the time to fully adjust. Stiles reached up to grip the back of Derek's neck, tugged at the little hairs there, and smiled when Derek met his eyes—flickering red to golden brown.

Derek shifted, lifted, and thrust in again, picking up pace slowly but steadily as Stiles urged him on. He'd imagined this being more difficult, more painful, but Derek had taken such painstaking precautions to prevent that, he barely even noticed the occasional pinch of tightness. Oh, he'd feel it later, he was sure, but right now his senses were on overload and he was loving every minute of it.

Derek lifted a clawed hand to touch Stiles, then thought better of it.

Stiles noticed, grinned wide, and took a hand to himself instead, watching Derek the whole time, eyes locked—except for those moments when Derek turned his eyes on the sight of Stiles stroking himself and licked his lips.

Stiles was so far gone, he came within a few short minutes. His muscles tensed around Derek as he did, and the alpha let out his first deep moan, a sound Stiles never got tired of hearing.

The difference after coming was that Stiles felt even more relaxed, even more open, and the awesome tingly feeling didn't dissipate. He tightened their connection with his heels digging even deeper into Derek's ass, and rode out his partner's finish with a continued tirade of moans and agreements and utterances of 'fuck' and 'Derek' and 'holy shit, I love you'.

Derek pulled out of Stiles when he came, spilling onto Stiles' stomach with a cringe and then a satisfied smoothness to his forehead. Watching Derek come—above him, on him—was enough that Stiles felt his cock twitch to life again, though he knew he was too tired for a round two. At least not right now.

Derek remained poised over him, Stiles' legs quaking from how they had been stretched apart as he set them back onto the mattress, and they simply stared at each other for a few moments. Derek's eyes were hazel again, and filled with affection. With gratitude and awe. The moment was perfect. Flawless.

"My, my…" interrupted Peter's wholly evil and unfair voice amidst the silence, "…what have you two been up to while I was away?"

TBC...

More soon! Thanks for reading!


	4. Peter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter has a continuing habit of showing up when he's not wanted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, I realize it's been almost a month, but it was my birthday, followed by tons of other busy times, including Chicago Comic Con where I manned a table for the publishing company I work with. I sold several copies of my book Incubus, and my novelette The Collector, and had a blast, but didn't have much time for writing. Things should be easier from here on out though, promise.
> 
> Enjoy! And thank you all so far for so many wonderful reviews!

"Mmm…don't let me interrupt," Peter purred from the doorway. "I'll just wait here."

Ice shot through Stiles' veins down to his toes. His eyes widened, staring up at Derek in complete and utter horror.

Derek's eyes narrowed and flashed red. He then literally leapt from the bed—one moment he was hovering over Stiles, the next he was standing, still naked, in front of the chest. Somehow, in his inhuman flurry of movement, he swept the covers back from the foot of the bed to cover Stiles. Stiles clung to them gratefully.

He got a clear view of Peter in the train car doorway now that Derek was no longer on top of him, and the second Peter's sharp blue eyes landed on his lewdly sprawled body on top of the mattress—covered or otherwise—Stiles nearly yelped and pulled the covers around him tighter.

Peter grinned slowly. "I thought you had more self-restraint than to pluck out one of the underage members of your pack—then again, they're all underage, aren't they? And I do understand the appeal of Mr. Stillinski."

Stiles glared even as he shivered under Peter's scrutiny. He felt so exposed with the way Peter looked at him. It was the same way he had looked at him the night he offered him the Bite—like Stiles was something to be devoured.

A low growl rumbled through the train car.

"Now, now, nephew, how was I to know what I'd walk in on?" Peter said with hands raised. "I've simply returned from my mission and thought to check in where I knew I'd find you." He glanced down Derek's body and then raised an eyebrow. "And what a way to find you."

Stiles half expected Derek to launch himself at Peter's throat, maybe see if killing him a second time would do the trick, but Derek didn't move. He moved eventually, but only a few steps toward the corner where he retrieved a towel that he wrapped around his waist. He grabbed another towel and returned to the bed.

Stiles stared at Derek as he approached, wondering why his would-be hero wasn't being all that heroic anymore since the initial leap into action from the bed. "Hey…Derek," Stiles finally prompted, scooting to the end of the bed, wrapped up tight in the sheets. He reached out and touched his fingertips to Derek's wrist.

Derek took a breath, like Stiles had shaken him from a trance. The look of faded anger and regret was an awful shock to Stiles' system, and reminded him only too unfairly of how Derek had looked that day in the woods when he first became his older self again. Stiles knew those warring, pained emotions weren't for him, though, or what they had done. They were all for Peter.

Stiles climbed off the bed to stand next to Derek and looked at Peter defiantly. Peter's grin had faded, his brow furrowed now as he stared back at them, recognizing Derek's expression and how his barbs hadn't garnered the reaction he'd expected.

Derek handed the extra towel to Stiles. "Can you…clean up in the bathroom?" he asked, his tone stiff but not harsh.

Stiles wanted to be angry—with Peter for ruining their afterglow, not with Derek—but he understood, well, as much as he could understand why Derek needed a minute alone with his uncle. Stiles had known their reunion would be complicated, he'd just hoped it would happen in broad daylight, and not immediately following their first round of sex in over a week.

Stiles accepted the towel, snatched up his discarded clothes from the floor, and kept the sheets tight around him as he moved past Peter for the door. Just as he stepped around the older wolf, Peter leaned in and took a long sniff at his neck. Stiles wanted to whirl around and punch the asshole, but when he flicked his gaze to Peter with a ready glare, he didn't find smugness or a leering smile; Peter looked confused—shocked.

"This isn't just fun and games…" Peter spoke plainly. "You're…mated." There was no tease to those words either, only a sort of quiet amazement.

Stiles swallowed thickly, not really answering as he excused himself to get some actual clothes on. The bathroom was on the far side of the den, a public bathroom once upon a time with several stalls and a shower in the back. He was pleased to find that Derek had given that a good cleaning too, though it had always been one of the nicer areas of the place, since the girls had demanded it be sanitary once they were all using it on a regular basis.

A long hot shower would have felt nice, but Stiles was too anxious to get back out there, even if Derek wanted privacy. He used the shower to rinse off quick, then toweled down, dressed, dug his fingers through his hair which was starting to get long enough to actually look messy, and took a deep breath.

Now that he'd had time to come down from the adrenaline rush of sex, and then of being so rudely interrupted, he felt how sore he actually was. Nothing bad or truly painful, just a dull ache. He wanted to enjoy the ache, but damn Peter for having to ruin everything.

Impatiently, Stiles left the bathroom, carrying his soiled towel. He set it down on the floor outside the train car and sat on the steps, straining his ears to hear what Derek and Peter were talking about. Their voices were hushed, but Stiles could still make out the conversation. Derek had just finished explaining the events with the witch, being sixteen again, and how he and Stiles had ended the whole mess…together.

"I remember two separate lives," Derek said. "One the way it always was…Kate, the fire, all the things you did this past year…and another with Stiles, where none of those awful things happened until I woke up and had to remember them again."

Stiles felt that same ice-in-his-veins sensation wash through him as he sat there, listening. He could hear Peter breathing, knew he was in there, but he didn't say a word.

"Do you remember back then how I used to…crawl into your bed when I was scared? Even when I was too old for nightmares, I always went to you. Mom and Dad would have told me to stay strong, made me sleep alone and face my fears, but you indulged me every time. You always let me in."

A small hum came from Peter—no more than that—as affirmation that he remembered.

"Did you know I did the same thing after the fire? Every day, every night, for as long as I could…I'd curl in beside you. The nurses kicked me out a few times, said you were too hurt, had too many open wounds for that kind of contact, but I knew…I believed that if I could just curb the pain a little, take it away and into me instead, you'd wake up. I was furious with Laura when she said we were leaving. How could we leave? How could we leave you like that? But she said we had to. That it would be worse for you if we moved you, and that we couldn't stay, not when the hunters were still out there looking for us.

"I knew it was my fault. I knew it was because of Kate. I knew…the reason you wouldn't wake up was because of me."

"Derek…"

Stiles stifled a gasp. He'd never heard Peter sound soft and mournful, like he cared, really cared.

"I thought…" Derek went on, "if only you'd wake up…everything would be okay."

Stiles waited for Derek to say more, for Peter to comment, maybe even deny it all or act like a smug asshole again and tease Derek for his sentimentality. But nothing happened. Neither of them spoke. Neither of them moved. At least not that Stiles could hear.

Then Peter said something, but it was too soft for Stiles to catch the words. He leaned his head back, hoping to hear more, but suddenly Peter was in the doorway coming down the steps.

Stiles scrambled out of the way, nearly tripping over his own feet. He couldn't not stare at Peter, especially after Peter turned to him, looked at him, not seeming like Peter at all. Not the one Stiles knew. The older man seemed shaken. By memories. By Derek.

"I'll see you again. Soon," he said, and while those same words could have easily sounded like a threat coming from Peter a few months ago, now they seemed like some sort of somber promise, like he was truly sorry for leaving and didn't want Stiles to think less of him.

What had Stiles missed?

He was hardly qualified to understand the inner workings of Peter Hale's messed up head, but he definitely felt like he had missed something. Wasn't Peter a borderline sociopath? Didn't they hate and fear the guy? Sure he'd gone after the alphas to protect them all, but Stiles had never really believed it.

"He said he needs some time," came Derek's voice.

Stiles turned sharply to watch Derek descend the small set of stairs out of the train car. "Is he…okay? Are you?"

Derek smiled sadly, looking after his retreating uncle. "I don't know…"

"What about…the alphas?"

"Gone. He convinced them to turn on their leader, told them what idiots they were being when he was obviously only having them kill their packs so he could eventually kill them. The fool actually thought he could become a god. They killed him and went their separate ways."

"And Peter came back."

Derek nodded.

"And that's…good?"

Derek sighed. He didn't have an answer. Rather than try and squeeze one out of him, Stiles opted for silence for a change and reached out to grip Derek's arm. Apology shone in Derek's eyes, but Stiles didn't want an apology. This night was meant to be theirs, and Stiles resented that it had been taken away from them, but it wasn't Derek's fault.

"Wanna take me home? Maybe…stay a while?"

Derek offered another somber smile and nodded.

The drive was quiet but not uncomfortable. Whatever new connection they shared made it impossible for any silence or moment between them to be anything other than at least companionable. Stiles could even feel the constant thrum of emotions raging through Derek—sorrow mostly, and regret, shame, and uncertainty. But beneath it all was still a warm glow of affection and happiness because of Stiles.

Stiles clung to that and vowed to pull those good emotions out of Derek as much as he could. He didn't deserve to wallow.

"Next time we'll stay in my room, some night we know my dad will be out. And we won't let anything interrupt us. But tonight…whatever you need to talk about, seriously, dude…just talk," Stiles said as he dropped back onto his bed and turned toward Derek beside him.

Derek had his head on the pillow, his hands folded neatly over his stomach. He stared at the ceiling and soon began to speak as bidden. Stiles listened. Contrary to what some people might guess of him, seeing as how Stiles was quite a talker, he was also a great listener. He'd been there for Scott so many times, he'd lost count of their midnight conversations and rantings. So it was easy to listen to Derek.

Mostly Derek spoke about Peter, about the old Peter, the one Derek had grown up with and loved. The one who at one point in his life had been Derek's best friend. They were barely ten years apart after all, since Peter was the youngest of the older generation Hales, so they had always had a strong bond. Derek never had a brother, only sisters, so Peter played that role as well. He was brother, uncle, friend, and even sometimes father.

Stiles laughed when Derek related tales of how Peter would get him into trouble, but silly benign trouble that boys were supposed to get into when they were young. And Stiles looked on solemnly, watching for tears, when Derek recalled his worst nights, nights that brought him to his uncle's bedroom to shiver against him beneath the covers.

It was difficult to imagine Peter being like the man Derek described. The mischief was always there, the charm, but he'd changed. The fire made him into a different man. Derek didn't know if the old Peter was still in there. Stiles didn't either. He hoped so for Derek's sake, because despite his own wariness of Peter Hale, and wanting to hate him for so many things, Stiles still understood why Derek wanted the man back. It wasn't only because memories of a loving Peter were fresh for him after what had happened with the witch, but because Peter was family. And you never give up on family.

At some point Stiles fell asleep. His dad was working late, so he only roused when he heard his father checking in on him. Derek was gone then—it was one or two in the morning, so he must have slipped out when Stiles fell asleep—but there was a note beneath Stiles' pillow, a hastily scrawled 'Thank you'.

XXXXX

"Any Saturday plans, kiddo?"

"Nah, just homework. Lazy weekend for me," Stiles said as he flipped the French toast on the pan.

He was in a good mood, despite the somber aspects of the night before, and had used cream in the recipe like his mother used to. His dad was waiting patiently for his helping, with a cup of coffee and the paper. He had the day off.

"You didn't have to wake up so early. I know you got in late," Stiles said.

"And miss French toast?" his dad smiled at him, smelling the air appreciatively. "Hey, maybe we can hit a movie later this afternoon, after you've gotten through some of your homework. I work first shift tomorrow, but we could try for an earlier show and grab dinner after."

Stiles beamed. He hadn't caught a movie with his dad in months. "That sounds awesome. I just have this paper I want to get started on. I'll check times and see what we want to hit."

Stiles finished dishing up their breakfast, handed his dad a plate, then grabbed some orange juice for himself before joining the Sheriff at the table. They ate in relative comfortable silence until Stiles' dad spoke again.

"So…how's Joe? Haven't seen him in a while. You two were joined at the hip when I first met him. Everything okay?"

Stiles faltered with his fork halfway to his mouth. "Yeah, he's just…been busy. I saw him last night after practice before coming home. At his place. His…his uncle's back in town now, so they need some time to catch up."

"Oh, that's good. I still need to talk to him. Not that I'm really worried about permission for Joe staying over those few times, but it's good for me to know your friends' folks."

"Yeah…sure." Stiles nodded at his plate. Maybe instead of working on homework, he needed to sit down and contemplate just how long he could keep the charade up, and how he was going to break the truth to his dad when he finally ran out of excuses.

Thankfully, the doorbell rang and interrupted any further questioning.

"I got it!" Stiles called eagerly, and jumped up from the table. It was probably UPS. He'd ordered a new graphics card for his computer that should be arriving today.

Still mulling things over as he raced to the door, Stiles wondered if he should just say he and Joe broke up and weren't really going to be friends anymore. That would help avoid the 'why haven't I see Joe around' questions. But then his dad would probably want to talk in more detail about why they'd split, which would lead to a more in depth discussion of how they had been together, and while that was an awesome dad thing to do, it was less awesome when Stiles was lying about everything.

Stiles pulled the front door open without much thought, still up in his head. Then he stopped cold, mouth hanging agape.

Peter smiled at him, looking neat and well-groomed with a fresh haircut, trimmed beard, and fancy long black coat. "Hello, Stiles," he said with the usual silk in his voice. "Is your father at home?"

Stiles stood there, still with his mouth hanging open for maybe several seconds too long, since the next thing he heard was, "Stiles?! Who is it?"

Then the Sheriff was coming around the corner toward the door and Stiles had no thoughts in his head, not a single one to solve this or make it go away.

Peter smiled broadly as the Sheriff approached and stretched out his hand in greeting. "Sheriff Stillinski? I'm Peter. I believe our boys have been seeing each other. My apologies for being out of town. I do appreciate you taking my nephew in for a few days so he wouldn't be stuck home alone."

"Ah, you must be Joe's uncle. We were just talking about you," the Sheriff said amiably, accepting and shaking Peter's hand as he came to stand next to Stiles.

Peter glanced at Stiles curiously. "Were you now? Good things, I hope."

Thoughts were still forming in Stiles' head, so he merely blinked back at him.

"Stiles was just mentioning you were back in town and that he saw you and Joe last night. I'm glad to get the chance to meet you in person. We're just finishing up breakfast if you'd like to come in."

Alarm bells went off in Stiles' head. It wasn't as if Peter was a vampire and needed permission to enter the house, but actually inviting him in felt oddly wrong. Still, Stiles found himself stepping back to let Peter enter, just going along with his father's neighborly charm. Not that they were actually neighbors.

"Joe isn't with you?" the Sheriff asked as he led Peter into the living room to have a seat. Stiles trailed behind, using every ounce of sense in him to think of something to say or do—fast—to fix this before it inevitably went in some horribly destructive direction, but after a moment, he found himself sitting beside his dad on the sofa with Peter across from them.

"My nephew was up a little too late last night and needed the extra rest, so I didn't want to wake him," Peter said, probably speaking the truth for once, at least about Derek being back at the den asleep, instead of there where he could offer some assistance. "Stiles was over last night, and his…presence there and the time he's spent with my nephew has made me realize a few things."

What was Peter's angle in all this, Stiles wondered. What was he after? Was he just trying to fuck with him? It was certainly possible. But why? He had seemed so heartfelt and honestly a bit broken after his discussion with Derek last night. Had all that been another act?

Peter sat in the chair across from the sofa leaning forward with his arms resting on his thighs. He wasn't smiling anymore. His expression was pensive, serious. "You see, Sheriff, I've come to realize, after many years of…regrets…that family really is the most important thing, and I'm ashamed to admit that I lost sight of that somewhere."

Stiles' dad nodded patiently, his brow furrowed in that police officer way that said he was trying to listen and size Peter up at the same time. If only he knew that Peter was actually the murderer he'd been after for so long, not that Stiles could really blame Peter. He couldn't think of a single example of the people Peter had killed who didn't deserve what they got. Even the nurse. The only reason Stiles clung to a sense of hatred for the man was because Peter would have been fine murdering Lydia too, if the Bite had killed her. That just wasn't something Stiles could easily forgive.

"My nephew has been very helpful in reminding me of what's important. So has Stiles," Peter continued. "You're very important to Stiles, Sheriff, and I know it's pained him to lie to you all these months. So if he's going to be part of my family now too, I think you deserve the truth."

Shit.

"I'm…not sure I'm following," the Sheriff said, his brow even more tightly knit now. "Aren't we getting a little ahead of ourselves? The boys are only sixteen. They've only known each other a few weeks."

Taking on an expression Stiles was more familiar with, Peter grinned. "Actually…that's not entirely accurate."

Work brain! Work! Stiles thought frantically, but he wasn't quick enough. No helpful thoughts surfaced in time for him to intervene before Peter continued.

"Let me tell you a story, Sheriff…" he said, and as he trailed off, his eyes began to glow brilliant, cold blue. He opened his mouth just slightly to reveal lengthening fangs, and as he sat up straight, he held up his hands as if in surrender while they morphed into dangerous claws.

Stiles was stone still.

"Let me tell you about werewolves in Beacon Hills."

TBC...


	5. Truth and Promises

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter explains all.

Stiles instinctively moved in front of his father, leaping up from the sofa with remarkable speed. If Peter meant to attack, he’d have to go through Stiles first.

Peter rose more slowly from his seat, still holding his clawed hands up in seeming surrender. “I don’t mean any harm, Stiles. I’m simply taking on the burden you weren’t ready to accept. You’re pack now. Your father should know the truth.”

If they hadn’t just witnessed Peter’s transformation for themselves, Stiles imagined his father would have laughed, assumed it was all some big joke, but you couldn’t fake those kinds of special effects when they were right in front of your face. Peter was full on beta mode now as he started to bring his hands down, standing there in all his wolfish glory, waiting for a reaction.

Stiles could feel his father itching to move, probably for his gun, which of course wasn’t on him at the moment since he was in civilian clothing for the day. But as Stiles sensed his father rise from the sofa behind him, he suddenly realized just how bad this could get. If his dad attacked, Peter would retaliate, no matter how noble he was pretending his motivations were right now.

Seeing his window of opportunity closing, much as it pained him to side with Peter in anything, Stiles came to a quick decision and spun around, guarding Peter behind him instead with hands raised.

“Dad, wait. It’s okay. It’s really okay,” Stiles said, finally able to see his father’s reaction. 

True to form, the Sheriff looked impressively impassive if understandably on edge, his gaze focused past Stiles to watch Peter carefully. His hands closed into fists and he looked at Stiles incredulously, if to say ‘you’re protecting this guy?’

“I can explain—” Stiles began, but he didn’t get much further before the front door burst open in the entryway. Stiles whirled around, looking around Peter to see Derek rush into the living room. Peter must have left him a note or some other hint about where he would be, or maybe Derek had merely decided on walking by once he woke up and happened to pick up on Peter’s scent.

Now, Derek stood stiff but poised to attack, his eyes flashing red in warning.

Peter turned to look at Derek as well, and Stiles saw a wide grin split the older man’s face as his features slowly began to return to normal. “Ah, I was wondering when you’d join us…Joe.”

XXXXX

Stiles really had no idea how this was his life. 

But, crazy as it seemed, where he had once been sitting beside his father across from Peter Hale—who’d been ready to spill all werewolf secrets to the Sheriff of Beacon Hills—now Stiles sat in the same position, his father beside him once more, across from Peter and Derek.

Peter had taken the lead in explaining, and Stiles was both thankful and surprised that he hadn’t had to correct the older wolf once—Peter was being nothing but honest.

“So…do I not want to ask what all of this has to do with the deaths over the past few months?” the Sheriff questioned with a hard look at the older Hale.

“That would be…best,” Peter said cryptically.

“The most recent ones were from something that doesn’t exist anymore, Dad,” Stiles added, surprised at how quickly he jumped to Jackson’s defense to cover for him, but after all, the whole Kanima thing hadn’t really been Jackson’s fault. “We’ve been doing all we can to protect people, not hurt them…for the most part.”

“And Scott and all your friends are…werewolves too?” The Sheriff’s voice was frighteningly even and controlled, the way he sounded during an interrogation, or when he was about to ground Stiles for a week.

“Not Allison, Lydia, or Danny, but…yeah, the rest are,” Stiles said.

“And…Derek as a 16-year-old was the boy I met?”

Stiles swallowed thickly, averting his gaze to the carpet. “Yeah.”

“Who you’ve been…sleeping with.”

Stiles swallowed again. “Uhh…well, in our defense…”

“Stiles.”

Slowly, Stiles looked up at his dad again, finding a hard, blank expression that he knew was there to mask concern more than anger. “…yeah, that’s the gist of it.”

The Sheriff took a few deep breaths, centered his body, lifted his head to the Hales sitting across from them, and looked squarely at Derek. “So exactly what intentions do you have with my son, Mr. Hale? Because your uncle doesn’t make it sound very casual.”

Stiles felt like he was in a wind tunnel—completely incapable of movement or sentient thought.

Derek, to his credit, looked almost as impassive as the Sheriff, but when he opened his mouth to respond, Peter interrupted.

“They’ve basically eloped by wolf standards. Mated. So ‘casual’ is the last thing I’d call it,” Peter grinned politely—politely.

Stiles buried his face in his hands. “I hate you so much,” he grumbled so that only the wolves could hear him.

“Sheriff Stillinski, you need to understand that these are…have been…very unique circumstances,” Derek attempted to diffuse the suffocating amount of tension in the air. “I had no intention of approaching Stiles before what happened. Things were different when I was sixteen, and I know the age difference now is…significant, but…” He trailed, a sense that he had no idea how to finish that sentence clear in his eyes when Stiles looked up again. Or maybe it was just that Stiles could literally feel Derek’s panic through their mated connection despite his stony expression.

Awesome.

Because saying the truth, that Derek loves Stiles and they plan to spend the rest of their lives together, because it’s all fairytale awesome with their freaky new connection, and Stiles totally knows its fate and magical in some insane way even if it does all sound like teenage rambling…

Yeah, his dad probably wouldn’t buy that.

“Dad…I’m almost seventeen, and I know that’s still young, especially compared to Derek, and that you’re probably thinking I’m just being a stupid teenager, but this isn’t some crush, or some gang I’ve gotten mixed up with,” Stiles said with as much determination as he could muster, turning to face his dad directly. “Now you know that all the times you’ve been disappointed in me lately weren’t because I was doing all the stupid things you thought, but because I’ve been trying to protect the people I care about. Including Jackson, if you can believe it. This is…an extended family. It’s bigger than just having werewolves for friends. We’re just trying to protect each other and this town. I know what I’m doing, Dad, and I’ve wanted to tell you, I just didn’t know how. Certainly didn’t imagine it going down like this.” He cast a quick glare at Peter.

There was a long silence as the Sheriff digested the events and details he’d been given. Again, Stiles wondered if his dad would even believe all of this was real if he hadn’t seen Peter transform right there in their living room, but now there was no going back. He knew—about the wolves and about Stiles and Derek—and now Stiles had to deal with the consequences.

At long last, the Sheriff spoke. “Melissa knows?” he asked.

“She was pretty freaked, but…she’s good now.”

The Sherriff took in another deep breath. “I won’t pretend to think I could keep you from this, not something you care about this much. I don’t want to tell you to stay away from your friends just because they’re…different. But this is dangerous, Stiles. This whole situation is different from…anything I ever thought I’d have to deal with. So if this is going to continue, I need to know everything. It’ll make it easier to do my job, as Sheriff and as a father, and…might make it easier to keep the truth off anyone else’s radars too,” he added with a look back at the Hales.

Peter smiled wide as if he knew things would end this way right from the beginning. Stiles could tell his dad didn’t trust Peter, though, because every time the creeper looked at the Sheriff, Stiles felt his dad squirm in his seat. “I’m glad you feel that way, Sheriff,” Peter said. “We could use a few more adults in the pack to keep the kids in line.”

The Sherriff returned Peter’s smile with cold, masked acceptance.

Derek glared at his uncle out of the corner of his eye, then caught Stiles’ gaze for the first time, exuding apology and regret.

Stiles was really getting sick of seeing that expression on the sourwolf.

“As for…the two of you,” the Sheriff said, which made Stiles’ throat close up as he was pulled from his reverie. “I can’t say I approve of your…relationship. The boy I met who was the same age as my son…I could understand, accept, liked. Most of my reasons for being wary about you, Derek, may be explained by…all this,” he gestured weakly at the werewolves in his living room, “but that doesn’t mean it’s suddenly okay for a grown man to date an underage boy.”

“Dad…”

“Don’t say I don’t understand,” he rounded on Stiles. “I know I don’t understand. There’s a lot to digest here. So…” He sighed and turned back to look determinedly at Derek. “We’re going to need to have some private talks to make sure I understand everything. We can go from there. In the meantime,” he glanced back to Stiles, “no more sleepovers.”

Stiles deflated, not that he hadn’t expected that amendment. He knew he didn’t have an argument his father would understand. ‘But we’re mates!’ just wasn’t going to fly. Still, he couldn’t imagine being without Derek’s close proximity and now very familiar touch.

Derek stood from his chair. “I don’t want to make things more difficult for Stiles. That’s why I avoided him for as long as I did. I want you to understand everything, Sheriff, because if Stiles is pack, you should be too. I can promise you that we protect our own, and we’ll look after you as closely as we look after Stiles. Though, to be honest, most of the time…he’s the one looking after us.”

‘Or setting us on fire’ Stiles practically heard Peter say aloud as the older wolf’s sharp blue eyes darted to Stiles’ face.

Stiles swallowed, averted his gaze, but when he looked up again, Peter was smiling—mischievously but not unfriendly. It was even more unnerving somehow. That guy was either truly a sociopath and holding back some awful grand master plan to bite them all in the ass—maybe somewhat literally—or actually honest about wanting to make things up to Derek. Either way, Stiles was seriously terrified about what it all might mean.

“Would it be alright if Stiles and I talked for a few minutes alone?” Derek asked.

Stiles tried to imagine this scenario where his dad and Peter Hale would be alone and saw nothing but horror, but he also really wanted to talk to Derek.

The Sheriff nodded.

Rather than head up the stairs to Stiles’ room, Derek turned for the kitchen, and Stiles scampered from the couch to follow after him. Once they reached the kitchen counter, Stiles gripped the edges of Derek’s leather jacket and yanked him in for a kiss. He didn’t even try to make it safe and chaste with their respective father figures sitting in the other room; he didn’t know the next time he’d get to do this.

Derek’s stubble rubbed in a familiar way against his cheek. Derek’s mouth was hot—everything about him was always so warm. And one hand came to rest gently at Stiles’ waist. Derek didn’t try to push him away, he allowed the contact, sank into it, and hummed.

“Stiles…” he said warningly once they pulled apart—well, sort of apart. Stiles was still gripping Derek’s jacket, Derek still had his hand on Stiles hip, and they were about half an inch from kissing again.

“Yeah,” Stiles breathed out slowly, “I know. But the ‘no more sleepovers’ clause might kill me. So we won’t be having any new romps in my bedroom. Fine. We’ll work around it. I’m not giving any part of this up, or waiting until I’m older. We’ve had that argument.”

Derek leaned back and looked him in the eyes. He didn’t look disapproving though. He knew there was no arguing with Stiles on this, and it was clear he didn’t really want to. He gave a crooked smile. “Even if your dad finds out and turns me in?”

“You’ll just break out and we’ll run dramatically away together.”

Derek huffed a laugh.

“Okay, so maybe I don’t really mean that. Going the way of Bonnie and Clyde was never all that appealing, but…we’ll work it out.”

“Yeah…” Derek leaned in again for a quick, gentle press of lips, then pulled all the way away. “I’m so sorry this happened. I had no idea he’d do something like this.”

“It’s Peter,” Stiles dismissed, leaning back against the counter. “Predictability is his lowest possible trait. At least Dad didn’t pull his gun.”

Derek laughed again, and they chatted a bit more, but there wasn’t really anything else to say that hadn’t been said already. Stiles promised he wouldn’t let his dad keep him from practice at the den, and that he’d even bring his dad to watch if that appeased him, but he also promised that they would revisit the events of the previous night soon, somewhere somehow when no one would be around to interrupt and ruin their afterglow.

Then, only a few short minutes later, the Hales were getting ready to leave, and Derek and Stiles’ dad were setting up a time tomorrow to…talk—just the two of them. It was all so real suddenly, and even though events had transpired without any gunshots or gaping wounds exchanged, Stiles felt raw and exposed. He wasn’t sure he was ready to face his dad alone.

He allowed Peter to pull him aside before the Hales left, if only to glare at the guy properly.

“Just like my nephew,” Peter shook his head with a wry smile. “A fool in love, not thinking of the consequences to those around him. Imagine if your father had been the one to walk in on the two of you as I did?”

Stiles felt his heart stutter at the thought. 

“Exactly. Everything worked out for the best, and now…we have a new, powerful ally who can only make things easier for everyone involved. Besides,” he tilted his head with a somewhat distant look for a moment, “I do miss having other adults in the pack. Melissa is a nice addition, though I doubt she’ll be happy to see me again. Chris, maybe…he always was such a dear.”

“Hey,” Stiles said with a little more malice than intended, though he tried not to shrink back too much when Peter flicked his eyes to him. “Don’t think you can just go fucking with everybody’s heads. Not if you’re actually part of this pack. Just because things turned out okay with my dad doesn’t mean you get to go stalk Scott’s mom, or Mr. Argent. We’re supposed to be a team. Chris didn’t have anything to do with—”

“I know he didn’t,” Peter said evenly. “I took care of the one who did, remember?”

“Yeah, just like you took care of Laura.” Stiles stifled a gasp as soon as that left his lips. He felt awful that he’d sort of forgotten about Laura when he was mentally lauding Peter for only having killed assholes. Laura had been an innocent. She’d been family. 

Peter didn’t look too happy to be reminded of her. He backed Stiles up against the front door. Derek and the Sheriff couldn’t see them from where they were still sitting in the living room. Stiles flinched when the older Hale pressed a palm to the door beside his head. “How can I make up for such an awful atrocity, I asked myself. Derek has to live with his guilt over the fire; how do I live with mine? Then I thought of you…Stiles.” His eyes flashed bright wolf blue for a moment as he scanned down Stiles’ body.

Now would be a good time to find his voice and call out for Derek, Stiles thought, but he couldn’t move, let alone whimper.

“You should be properly brought into this pack. Your father too. That’s how I make up for what I’ve done, by rebuilding the family we lost. So don’t you worry, Stiles…” Peter’s hand moved slowly from where it had been pressed into the door to briefly cup and then pat his cheek affectionately, right where Derek’s stubble had rubbed him slightly red. “You’re family now. You have nothing to fear from me.”

Stiles let out a deep breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding when Peter pulled away. He stared for a moment at Peter’s normal again blue eyes and contented smile, not sure how to read any of what had just happened. He straightened himself by the time his father and Derek came around the corner. He contemplated giving Derek a panicked look, a plea for help, but he didn’t really know what he’d say. Had Peter just promised protection? Or threatened him?

After the Hales left, Stiles and his father eventually ended up at the kitchen table, staring at their remaining and now cold pancakes. Stiles figured he might as well go for broke. 

“So, I guess it probably wouldn’t help if I said I’m in love with him.”

The Sheriff looked at him with a certain fond sadness, exasperation, but not anger or the stern Sheriff act he’d displayed to Derek and Peter. He sighed, something he’d been doing a lot of that morning, and scooted his chair closer to Stiles so he could put an arm around his son in a half-hug. “I’m just trying to take this all in slowly, okay, which I know isn’t how you do…anything. I know in a few years, some of this won't matter, but right now you’re still my sixteen year old little boy running around with a pack of monsters.”

“Dad—”

“And I know they’re not monsters, I just…feel a little like I’m going to hear my alarm clock any minute now and find you still making pancakes.”

Stiles gave a half-smile and leaned against his dad. “Yeah…I know what you mean.”

“So…maybe we need that ’us’ day like we planned, huh? You filled me in on a lot, but I’m guessing there are a few other things I probably don’t know. I’ll admit, it’s a relief to know that you were just keeping this insane secret from me, instead of…suddenly changing into some other kid. All these things—saving people’s lives and protecting your friends—that’s the Stiles I know. Don’t think I’m not proud of that, kiddo. I’m just as scared as ever that you’re in too deep and might get hurt, but…I’m glad I know the truth.”

Stiles looked up and stared into his father’s eyes, stunned. He didn’t want to admit that Peter might have actually done him a favor. “Yeah. Me too.”

“Good. And tomorrow…I’ll have that talk with Derek.”

Fuck. Then again, maybe Peter was just a sadistic bastard.

TBC.....

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See, I promised this one would come sooner. 
> 
> If you know my Supernatural epic Incubus on FF.net, you'll recognize the suit from our mystery man at the end there. If not, I hope you enjoy him. More soon!


	6. The Talk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Talk - a drabble and end to the story.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes you read right, yes the previous chapter 6 is now gone, including the teaser at the end of chapter 5. As much as I was excited about this fic initially, and still love much of it, I honestly don't want to write what I initially planned any longer. It has run its course for me and rather than have writing the fic become a chore, I am considering this the end. It seems a fitting place with Peter back and the Sheriff in the know, and is better left without continuing the tale. 
> 
> Thank you all so much for your support so far, and rest assured, I never delete anything completely, so there's always a chance I could decide to continue this, but as an author with a day job on top of that, I need to focus on original work and just don't have the time for chapter fics anymore, at least not now. I am so sorry for those of you who awaited more, and truly thank you for reading this fic. 
> 
> Enjoy this ending drabble!

100 words - The Talk

 

Stiles knew ‘the talk’ would not be easy, but given that Derek didn’t look devastated afterwards, and was free of any bullet wounds, he figured it a victory. 

Derek kissed his temple. “See you after lacrosse tomorrow.” Only they didn’t have a pack meeting planned.

Stiles grinned as Derek left. He wondered for a moment if the alpha was being rebellious. Then his father came around the corner. 

“Just don’t give me any details,” he said.

Internally Stiles cheered. Externally he nodded vigorously. 

His father rustled his hair and, if only for a moment, everything was right with the world. 

 

THE END


End file.
